


Not One of Us, (Anymore).

by Sun_Spark



Category: Sanders Sides (Web Series), Thomas Sanders
Genre: Angst, But fun, Deceit Angst, Deceit Sanders - Freeform, Deceit is a good bean, Deceit's name is Veritas, Emotional Hurt, Gen, IT WAS AN ACCIDENT, Lies, Lion King (1994) References, Logan Sanders - Freeform, No real warnings, Patton Sanders - Freeform, Roman Sanders - Freeform, SO, Tags Are Hard, The other's aren't, Tumblr Prompt, but still, deceit used to be something else, hurt/comfot, hurt/self comfort, is extra af, it's not his fault!, let me know if I missed a tag!, not one of us, pathological liar, reassurance, self comfort, sympathetic deceit, tf do I tag?, the sides made him deceit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-08
Updated: 2018-08-08
Packaged: 2019-06-23 15:38:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,617
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15609504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sun_Spark/pseuds/Sun_Spark
Summary: Deceit didn't used to be Deceit. He used to have a purpose he enjoyed, until the other sides warped him, changed him into what he is now. It may have been an accident, but the scars still show. This is his story, the tale of who he used to be and who he is now, and this is how it happened. Honest!





	Not One of Us, (Anymore).

**Author's Note:**

> This was a prompt given to me over on my tumblr (@remy-alagaesias-dragon-queen) where I bloody love sanders sides prompts! (so, ya know, if you have one *nudge*)
> 
> The amazing art/gif/animation by @fangirltothefullest of Deceit is largely what inspired the Lion King reference parts of the story and the title, so go check that out! Seriously, it's amazing! http://fangirltothefullest.tumblr.com/post/176619076620/evil-as-plain-as-the-scar-on-his-face

Deceit remembered a time when he had been accepted, when he hadn’t been shunned or hated, when he hadn’t been Deceit. He remembered before he had a physical form, when his being had merely existed in a void of nothingness, a consciousness without a body, without a care but to do his job. He could remember what it had been like back then, not breathing, not moving, not speaking, just thinking, just existing. He had observed Thomas’s life, birth and onward, without ever living a life of his own. He watched, and he advised. He watched as the boy grew, as he learned, as he bonded with others, as he was hurt, and as he healed. Through it all he was there to whisper words of encouragement, a voice disembodied in the darkness, echoing out into the nothingness, a gentle comfort. Back then he had been Reassurance, not Deceit.

His existence never changed, and there he stayed, within the darkness, watching, comforting, observing, calming. The day Thomas broke his arm he whispered that it would heal. When the boy accidentally broke his mother’s vase, he had shushed him with reminders of his mother’s love and promises of her forgiveness. When the family pet had to be put down due to age, he reminded the child that there was nothing he could have done. Thomas didn’t understand a school assignment and he assured him that he had plenty of time to learn. This was his job, and this was all he did: Reassure the child of what was true when he became distraught.

Then one day he couldn’t do that, and it broke something deep inside of him, he wanted so badly to reassure the child that everything would be fine when his grandfather fell ill…. but he couldn’t. It wasn’t true. So he lied. He told the boy that it would be alright, he told him that his grandfather would heal, that the old man would come home once again, that he would hear deep laughter ringing through the halls once again. He promised that he wouldn’t die. He swore that Thomas had no reason to worry. And then his grandfather had died. And he had known all along that he was lying to the child.

He had thought little of it, the minor guilt he felt for deceiving the now distraught child giving way to the knowledge that Thomas had not been inconsolable with grief the last few months. Now he did his proper job again, reminding him of his grandfather’s love, reassuring him that his beloved elder was no longer in pain, that he would see him again one day. And in time, Thomas stopped crying. That should have been the end of it, things should have gone back to normal. But they didn’t.

The consequences of the boy having lied to himself for months became clear all too quickly. He started to think to himself that maybe, when he broke the lamp, he could say that he tripped rather than saying that he was playing around. He thought that maybe he could say he lost his book rather than admitting that he just didn’t want to read it. When he was upset he said he was fine. He didn’t do his chores and he said he forgot. He, as many children do, learned that lying could ease his path just a bit, get him out of trouble and hide things he didn’t want to be known…. He had learned that sometimes lies hurt far less than the truth. And through it all, Reassurance told him that it would be alright. That things would be fine, that he would be forgiven if he got caught and that there was no need to be afraid if he didn’t. Oh, how he had never meant for his reassurances to turn into this….

The force of Thomas learning to lie, of needing more reassurances because of it, warped the void around him. He hadn’t expected it, and he almost failed to reassure himself that everything was ok. The nothingness changed from and inky black to an ashy grey, seeming to move around him, shapes like shadows peeking through the darkness, until they solidified. A box of dark grey, the top and bottom of which were black, a bed draped in yellow sheets and black blankets, a dresser and wardrobe of glossy black, and a door a deep brown framed in yellow.

He seemed to hover at the center of it all, his being shifting and changing as he took it all in. He felt lighter than he ever had, yet impossibly heavier, it took him a moment to realize this was because he had never had a body with which to experience either of these sensations. The room softly stopped shifting as he was set down, everything around him solidifying. 

A sudden softness startled him, and he looked down. Two bare feet were resting in a black rug so soft you could almost sink into it and disappear. _‘Was that where it had come from? That strange sensation?’_ He could see those feet leading into legs that disappeared in soft back pants, where the pants ended he could see the faint outline of hips. Above that was a gentle curve that lead up into a firmer section…a stomach, and a chest…these too were encased in fabric, a deep charcoal grey. Two pale arms hung loosely at either side, soft grey encircling them as well. He stared, trying to comprehend what was happening. 

A sudden sensation flared in the center of his being -pain, he distantly realized – and something higher up unhinged -his jaw he dimly noted later on- a gasping sound echoing in newly formed ears as coldness raced down into his being and into the now expanding chest he was staring at. _‘This… this was his body. And that was…. he was **breathing.** How? And why?’_

He knew, of course, that there were pieces of Thomas’s personality that had physical forms: Morality, Logic, Creativity. But he also knew there were far more pieces that did not: Calm, Self-Preservation, Fight-or-Flight…. him. So why did he have a physical form now? The other three were an integral part of Thomas’s personality, making up the majority of his very being, his every action and who he was. Having a physical form better enabled them to interact with each other and do their jobs… _‘Oh. Was that it? Was he here now because Thomas needed him more?’_

That was not…. ideal. That his host should be in so much distress as to need him in a physical form, but he would do his job as best he could. There was no use worrying over it now. He faced the door and paused a moment, deciding to take a day and learn how to navigate this body, how to use it properly, and to familiarize himself with his surroundings, before he went through that opening. He figured out how to walk and run, how to twist and turn his body, how to move his limbs, and how far he could move before it hurt. He opened his mouth and learned how to speak, only biting his tongue a few times at the unfamiliar sensation. As he lay down that night, he looked to the ceiling and saw little white dots scattered along its expanse, glowing. _‘Stars’_. He realized. He smiled softly as he counted them, remembering what Thomas’s grandfather had always told the young boy before he passed:

_“Look to the stars, Dear Boy, when all seems lost, look to the stars and find your way.”_

***

The next day he descended the stairs, more than a little worried, but reminding himself that he was meant to be here, that he would belong here. That he would not have been given physical form if that were not true. So he bolstered his own spirits and walked onward, pausing at the bottom of the stairs to take in his surroundings. The commons were a simple and spacious area, giving off a feeling of home. It had been his intention to survey his entire surroundings, but his focus was broken as his eyes rested on one of the couches, at its center sat another man. His attention was completely taken by studying the other, their surroundings forgotten. The man was clad in dark blue with a tie cinched around his neck, thick framed glasses framing deep brown eyes. He seemed calm, if his measured movements as he turned the pages of his book and the general stillness were any indication. 

After a few moments those eyes flicked up to him, a page pausing halfway through a turn, a clinical gaze sweeping over him once, analyzing. He put the book down, quiet and calm. “Ah, I see you’ve come down. We did notice your door last night, but I can’t say we were expecting you so soon. No matter.” He stood, stepping a bit closer but not within arm’s reach, a shift of attention, nothing more. “I am Logic, though you may call me Logan.”

The new trait opened his mouth to speak, but another voice cut him off. “Lo! Did he come down?!” A bouncy man with a happy grin on his face bounded out of the kitchen, grey cardigan swinging on his shoulders, the bright blue of his shirt nearly as peppy as he himself was, glasses identical to Logan’s framing sparkling eyes. The fatherly trait bounded over to him like an excited puppy, stopping just short of hugging him. “Heya Kiddo! Welcome down, ‘m so glad you came out!” A deliberate clearing of a throat drew the happy man’s attention to the Logical trait who raised a brow. The energetic man giggled, rocking back on his heels. “Oh! How silly of me! I’m Morality, though my name’s Patton! Everyone just calls me Dad though!”

A mumbled comment of ‘no we don’t’ from Logan was drowned out by a booming voice sounding from the man who just walked in the door. “Of course we do Padre!” His eyes tracked to the newcomer, taking note of shoulders slightly broader than the other two, the clothing of white with a red sash, and the self-assured smile on a tan face. The dramatic man shifted his gaze to the new comer and grinned wider, bowing and taking his hand to press a kiss to it with a flourish. “Ah! How lovely of you to join us! I am Prince Roman, the embodiment of Creativity!” The newest side blushed a little, finding himself flustered. Of all the things he’d learned how to do in the last day, responding to dramatics wasn’t one of them.

Logan rolled his eyes. “Yes, yes, enough with your theatrics Roman. Now then,” His eyes settled back on the darkly clothed side, “would you tell us your name and what your role is?”

The youngest side met his gaze and spoke clearly, a small smile on his lips. “I am Reassurance, and my name is Veritas.” The stoic one nodded thoughtfully. “Latin for ‘truth’. Fitting, for your role. Welcome.”

Patton grabbed his wrist and dragged him over to sit down on the couch, the other two following suit, and Veritas allowed himself a small smile as the emotional man rambled to him about their home and their selves, asking him random questions about himself, the other two interjecting sometimes. He grinned to himself and answered the questions as honestly as he could. _‘Yeah’_ he thought, _‘I could get used to this, to having a family.’_

***

Weeks passed, and Veritas got along well with the other sides, debating different points of interest with Logan and baking with Patton, listening to the man’s silly stories and horrible puns. Heck, he’d even gone on a quest with Roman, though those weren’t really his forte he’d come to find out. He did his job happily, telling Roman that his art was beautiful and his ideas would be amazing, telling Patton that his cooking was delicious and that it was going to be a good day, relating to Logan that he was intelligent and would go on to do great things with what he learned. He was happy, and it seemed he made the others happy too. He was content. He should have known it wouldn’t last.

In a short time his reassurances became hollow. It wasn’t his doing, but it was inevitable that the words he was saying would become lies to those who heard them. He didn’t mean to lie, but how could he truthfully tell Morality it would be alright when the moral trait didn’t believe it? How could he tell Creativity that his creations were wonderful when all he sees were the flaws? How could he tell Logic he was cared for when the calculating man couldn’t fathom being worth care? Soon all he could tell to his fellow sides was lies. 

Thomas was not much better. The boy had begun to doubt himself, things going wrong in his life, and all Reassurance could do was tell him it would be alright. That everything would work out. That he would be happy again, he would be cared for, he would heal. But Thomas didn’t believe his words, so these too became lies.

He hated it. He hated how acrid the words felt in his mouth, the bitter taste they left behind. But it was his job to reassure the others, and most importantly Thomas, so he did, swallowing past the sick feeling it gave him and saying the words with as much calm and compassion as he could.

He continued his job for weeks, months even, feeling sicker and sicker in the pit of his stomach with each passing day. He kept reassuring them, all of them and Thomas, day in and day out, lie after lie after lie, and the sick feeling grew. Grew until it threatened to crawl out his throat and spew out like venom. He fought against it, reassuring himself that he was doing his job, that he was helping the others. That they were more important than his comfort. He told himself it was fine, that everything would be well…. until the day it wasn’t.

Thomas was hurting, Patton on the verge of crying while Logic laid out the facts to him. A child Thomas had hoped to be friends with had started hurting him, and as much as it hurt Morality to turn away from a friend, Logic made it clear this wouldn’t be good for Thomas if they stayed. The confusion their disagreement caused was making Thomas upset, so Veritas opened his mouth to reassure him.

He had meant to say, _‘If you tell them you don’t want to be friends, you will still find other friends.’_ , but what had come out of his mouth had been “Tell them you hate them.”

His own eyes had widened in horror as Morality gasped and Logic gaped at him, and Thomas…. did as he was told. Thomas had gotten in trouble, badly, and the others had blamed him. Roman had lashed out at him, yelling that this was “ **Your fault!** If you can’t do your job, you shouldn’t be Reassurance!”

It had stung, badly, even if the creative trait was right. He had sunk out to his room, a pain flaring to life on the side of his neck. It hurt so damn bad! As soon as he was safe in his own room he tore his shirt off, rubbing at the spot and craning his neck so he could see it in the mirror. 

A green circle the size of his thumb print rested at the base of his neck, where the top of his shoulder became his back, itchy and foreign. _**‘A scale.’**_ He didn’t understand it, he didn’t know why it was there, but he ignored it. There would be time to figure that out later. 

 

Except later didn’t come, there was no time to figure out the little green mark he made sure to cover with a little cloak he’d found in his wardrobe, because Thomas was having a rough patch. Everything that could go wrong was going wrong, and the sides were suffering for it. And Veritas tried to soothe it all.

Roman couldn’t create anything decent and was falling apart at the seams because of it.  
_“It’s horrible!” - “No, it’s not, it’s beautiful.”_

_“My ideas are wretched!” – “They are wonderful.”_

_“I can’t do anything right!” – “You are brilliant, Roman.”_

_“I’ll never be a great artist!” – “You already are.”_

_“I’m a failure to Thomas!” – “You could never be a failure to him.”_

Morality began to question if he was good enough, if life would be ok.

_“We don’t have friends who listen.” – “We have two who love us very much, they simply can’t help.”_

_“I can’t make a good dinner.” – “Your food is delicious Patton.”_

_“Everything is gloomy and it’s not getting better.” – “You make it better already Patt.”_

_“Thomas will never be happy again.” – “Yes, he will Patt, one day, soon.”_

_“I’m a burden to Thomas and the others.” – “You’re important to him and to us.”_

Logan couldn’t learn, couldn’t absorb any more information, and he panicked, reasoning skills suffering.

_“We’ll never amount to anything if I can’t learn!” – “You have plenty of time to learn, this is temporary.”_

_“I’m an idiot!” – “You are intelligent and diligent, Logan.”_

_“What if he never learns again?” – “He will.”_

_“He’ll never learn all he needs to!” – “Of course he will.”_

_“Should he go into math or science? Arts? It’s hopeless!” – “He will follow his own path, and he will be happy, Logan.”_

This continued, the odd pain the child was in not ceasing for a long time, and with everything he said, every truth the others believed to be a lie Veritas grew sicker, until he found one day he could tell nothing but a lie, that nothing but a twisted version of his words would come out of his mouth. 

Logan was having a break down, actually crying for once, his voice shaky with harsh breaths and clogged with tears. “He-He’s failing school!” Thomas had gotten into trouble for having a D in math. “He won’t pass… I’m an idiot! A damn failure!”

_‘No, you’re not, and he won’t fail. You are not to blame.’_ Those were the words he had tried to say, but the sickness in his stomach reared its head, forcing its way up his throat. “Yes, you are. He will fail, and it will be your fault.”

Logan had stopped crying, freezing in shock at the words, staring at him wide eyed as they sunk in, then he began to sob. Veritas tried to open his mouth, a fever like cold settling over his body, horror and sickness twisting in his gut. He tried to take it back, to explain, but the harsh voice of Morality cut him off before he could begin. “ _ **Veritas!**_ How could you?!” The father figure had turned to Logan, rubbing his back and trying to console him, eyes locked on Veritas’s. “It doesn’t matter if it’s true or not - **which it’s not!** \- You don’t get to say such cruel things!”

Veritas had flinched back, a searing pain on the base of his neck. He’d meant to open his mouth and apologize, he wanted to say he was sorry, desperately wanted to make it right. “I’m not sorry.” Was what came out. 

His eyes widened and tears started to brim in his eyes as Logan cried harder. He sunk out and fled to his room, the burning on his neck intensifying. He scrabbled to get his shirt off, checking his neck in the mirror, dreading what he would see. Sure enough, settled right next to the first, was a second scale. It was larger than the other, nearly double the size and at least doubly as painful, a slightly darker shade of green. He stared at it, numbness spreading through his chest, and he cried.

It didn’t stop. Every time he went to reassure Thomas or the others, a lie spilled from his lips, the very opposite of what he wanted to say tumbling out into the air between them. He watched his once calming words that had brought such happiness and peace turn to acid, burning and scaring those he wished to help. And he couldn’t stop it. He had tried once to lie on purpose, hoping against hope that his words would twist into the opposite again, stating the truth. Instead they had come out cruel, dripping more venom than he could have ever thought possible. That scale had been the size of a ping pong ball on the side of his neck. He continued to do his job, trying to, pleading with them to understand that he wasn’t saying what he meant, eyes wide and tone desperate… but they never understood, and every time he lied they lashed out, words nearly as venomous flying back in his face.

Every barb and every jab at him, every time they blamed him for something going wrong, every time they spit venomous words at him, another scale grew on his skin…eventually it corrupted his eye, turning it yellow with a slit pupil. He covered his mirror, not wanting to see it anymore.

***

It was Roman who finally snapped one day, they all did, but he was the worst. Children are almost never reasonable, and it only takes one imagined slight for rivalries and cruelty to break out in their midst. This was a lesson Thomas was learning as he was wrongfully blamed for something by another child, this child having now decided that Thomas was their mortal enemy. Meaning the child had decided to make Thomas’s life a living hell every chance they got.

Morality had whispered to the child that it would be alright, that he could smooth things over, that they could be friends even! Logic, while he had not taken such an optimistic approach, had informed Thomas that this child who was bullying him had no legitimate reason to be angry with him, that explaining this should resolve the issue. Creativity had decided the best way to go about this was a gift, bright and colorful and filled with an apology and a wish to be friends. Veritas had whispered that he would be forgiven, and all would be well.

The three had poured themselves into the plan, executing it nearly flawlessly…. almost. The one flaw they hadn’t counted on was it not working. The gift had been thrown to the ground, crushed under a child’s heel, and Thomas had not only been laughed at, but also hit. The others reeled, having not planned for this, and in the chaos, Veritas opened his mouth. _‘You’re alright. Just get up and walk away, don’t say anything. You’ll be ok.’_ These words were all he wanted to say, his greatest wish at that moment, but fate hated him and his words, once again, twisted out of his control. “He hurt you. Yell at him.”

And Thomas, in his pain and heightened emotional state, had done that and more. He had attacked the other child, pushing him down and hitting him. He had gotten in trouble, suspended, both children having received bruises and cuts. Veritas watched it all unfold with horror. He decided then that he wouldn’t speak again, that he would be a comforting presence, a silent one. But he decided this too late. When it was all done, and Thomas was home that night, punishment over, in bed, Veritas was summoned to the commons where the other three waited for him. Patton sat on the couch, staring solemnly at the ground, Logic stood at his side with a clenched jaw, and Roman stood by the window, arms folded behind his back, teeth gritted.

Logic had informed him that he was “More hindrance than help and your presence at the current time is detrimental to Thomas’s development.” In a clipped and formal tone. “Though it is unlikely deception will ever be a trait of any benefit to him.” 

Morality had said he was disappointed in a sad tone. “I’m not proud of you Kiddo, this isn’t how we should behave.” He had frowned, perhaps the most serious tone anyone had ever heard from him coming out of his mouth. “I think it’d be best if you backed off for a while, until Thomas matures enough to handle you.” The, ‘and that’ll be never’ was left unsaid.

Veritas had flushed, tears welling up in his eyes as he tried to bite them back. _‘I didn’t mean to hurt you, I was only trying to help! You’re all wonderful and capable, and Thomas will live a happy life with you.’_ He should have known better by now, but his mouth opened of its own accord. “I’m not sorry, I intended to hurt you. You are all foolish invalids and Thomas’s life will be wretched with you.”

It was Creativity who lost his composure, face flushed red from anger and voice booming in fury. “ **HOW DARE YOU?!** You come here, into our home and we _welcome you_ , call you _**family**_ , and you **BETRAY US?!** ” He’d scoffed then, even that sounded angry. “’Reassurance’, that was just a lie! You come here under false name to **injure us and defile our home!** ” The angry man had stepped closer then, the other two remaining quiet, one pair of eyes fixed coldly on them, the other sadly on the floor. “Even your name is a lie! ‘ _Veritas_ ’, ‘ _ **truth**_ ’, HA! Your name is _**Deceit**_ , you foul creature, and your nature is known!” A step closer, fists balled angrily at his sides. “ _ **LEAVE HERE AND DO NOT RETURN, YOU WRETCHED SERPENT!**_”

Veritas had pressed his eyes closed in an effort to hold in his tears, sinking out and fleeing the only home he had ever known, for however brief a time. Over his shoulder he called a single phrase. “I’m _**not** sorry.” Even now he couldn’t tell the truth._

_They had poisoned him with their lies and self-doubt. Scarred him with their cruel words. Mangled his speech with their disbelief. And now…. now they were throwing him away._

_***_

_Years later, after having come out of hiding, Deceit watched, expression closed off, as the others spoke their minds, turning Thomas against him. It seemed the Prince would be the one to deliver the final blow, “Come on Thomas! Surely you see it?! He is ** _evil!_** ” he gestures sharply toward Deceit’s face, toward his scar. “It’s as plain as the scales on his face!”_

Deceit couldn’t bear to watch and pretend he didn’t care anymore. His eyes slid from Roman’s, moving down as he turned his head, hiding his shame and his scar from view. He grit his teeth, lips pulling back in silent agony, and squeezed his eyes shut, tears streaming down his cheeks as he fled. He sank out, popping up in the commons, doubting very much that any of the others had noticed his tears or would have bothered to care if they had. He ran up the stairs, barely avoiding tripping with his tear blurred vision, and flung himself into his own room. He stopped in the center of it, not bothering to turn the light on. _‘I had only tried to help. That’s all I had ever wanted!’_ he collapsed onto the floor, crying and sobbing for hours. When he had no more tears left to cry he looked up, he looked up and counted the stars. And if he reassured himself that one day, one day, he would be part of their family…well, that was just another lie. 


End file.
